I  -    PC 


POEMS. 


GEORGE    H.    CALVERT, 


BOSTON: 
WILLIAM    D.   TICKNOR  &   CO. 

1847. 


MAIN  LIBRARY 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1847,  by 

GEORGE    H.    CALVERT, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


CAMBRIDGE: 

STEREOTYPED  AND  PRINTED  BY 
METCALF      AND      COMPANY, 

PRINTERS   TO   THE   UNIVERSITY. 


953 
CU8 

/m 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

HOPE   PROPHESIES    TO   MAN         ....  J 

ASPIRATION JQ 

THE  MARTYR'S  MOTHER          ...  U 

THE   LOVED   DEPARTED  1  c 

...  10 

DIDACTIC ,y 

WHY   ARE  POETS   SAD?            ...  21 

BURNS 23 

IMPROMPTU             ...  07 

O,   DREAM  NO  MORE!         ....  39 

TO   LITTLE   MARY    GRIFFIN     ...  3l 
INVOCATION     . 

34 

FREILIGRATH  oe 


282 


IV  CONTENTS. 

THE  LOST  FOUND 40 

GIVE!   GIVE! 42 

AGNES .44 

I    WILL    BE   FREE 46 

THE    SUFFERINGS   OF    JESUS 49 

THE    BERNESE   ALPS   AT   SUNSET      .            .            .            .  51 

A   GORGEOUS   SUNSET          53 

ECHO   FROM    ITALY    IN    1830              ....  54 

REUBEN    JAMES 56 

SCENE    BEFORE    TRIPOLI 58 

EPIGRAMS. 

THE  POETASTER 69 

"  GREAT  STATESMEN  " 70 

ISMS 71 

SONNETS. 

ON    THE   FIFTY-FIFTH   SONNET    OF   SHAKSPEARE         .  77 

TO   THE   STATUE   OF    EVE,    BY    POWERS        ...  79 

TO    THE    SAME       .......  81 

TO    THE    LEGISLATURE    OF    MARYLAND        ...  83 

FROM  GOETHE. 

A   CONFESSION       .            .  89 


CONTENTS.  V 
SONGS. 

CHRISTEL 91 

SWEETNESS  OF  SORROW 93 

WANDERER'S  NIGHT-SONG          ....  94 

A  DEFIANCE 95 

HYMN  OF  THE  ARCHANGELS        ....  98 

PROVERBIAL 101 

EPIGRAMMATIC 109 

MISCELLANEOUS 116 

A  PARABLE .  119 

THE  HYPOCHONDRIAC 121 

FIVE  THINGS 122 

FIVE  OTHER  THINGS 123 

A  REVIEWER  124 


POEMS. 


HOPE  PROPHESIES  TO  MAN. 

SEE  Hope  her  glittering  pinions  plume. 

Joy  gushing  from  her  eyes  ; 
As  though  she  knew  not  of  man's  gloom, 

Nor  ever  heard  his  cries. 
Not  fresher  looks  the  dewy  dawn, 

Awakening  perfumed  May, 
And  calm,  as  though  could  ne'er  be  drawn 

Storm's  curtain  o'er  his  day. 


HOPE    PROPHESIES   TO    MAN. 

Hope  has  her  throne  upon  the  light, 

That  breaks  from  out  the  east  ; 
Behind  her  lowers  still  the  night, 

Before  her  night  has  ceased. 
Thus  riding  on  the  ushering  rays, 

That  greet  the  expectant  earth, 
She  shares  the  glory  that  displays 

Each  morn  at  its  great  birth. 


With  light  she  comes,  and  light  she  brings  ; 

Without  her  what  were  Morn  ? 
Dull  are  the  beams  Day  'fore  him  flings, 

To  those  with  her  are  born. 
The  Sun  his  heavenly  task  might  close, 

And  Earth  in  darkness  grope  ; 
For  life  would  sink  in  torture's  throes, 

Were  man  bereft  of  Hope. 


HOPE    PROPHESIES   TO   MAN. 

And  she  has  voices  deeper  still 
Than  for  the  single  ear,  — 

Voices  that  tell,  with  heavenly  will, 
Humanity's  career. 

Who  's  blest  to  hear  them,  sees  arise 
Such  splendors  in  the  van, 

That,  rapt  in  ecstasy,  he  cries, 

HOPE    PROPHESIES    TO    MAN. 


10 


ASPIRATION. 


WERE  we  what  we  might  be. 

We  'd  not  look  back  with  sadness  ; 

But  the  Past  as  brightly 

Would  shine  as  present  gladness. 

Were  we  what  we  could  be, 

We  'd  not  look  forward  fearing  ; 

But  the  Future  would  be 

As  sunlight  warm  and  cheering. 


11 


THE   MAETYE'S  MOTHEE. 


A  PASSAGE  FROM    THE   HISTORY   OF  THE   REFORMATION   IN  FRANCE, 
AT  THE   BEGINNING  OF  THE  SIXTEENTH  CENTURY. 


"  FIRST  strip  his  shoulders  bare. 

Then  through  the  streets  of  Meaux 
Scourge  the  cursed  wretch,  who  'd  dare 

More  than  his  priest  to  know. 
The  scourging  done,  let  the  hot  brand 
Hiss  on  his  brow  from  hangman's  hand." 


12  THE  MARTYR'S  MOTHER. 

Called  priests  of  Christ  were  they. 

The  judges  who  thus  spake  ;» 
So  darkened  was  the  day. 

That  with  Lord  Jesus  brake. 
For  Jesus  said,  "Love  one  another  "  ; 
These  loved  themselves,  and  cursed  their  brot 

His  hands  behind  him  bound, 

His  back  the  martyr  bent ; 

His  life-drops  on  the  ground, 

They  marked  the  path  he  went. 
Calmly  as  earth  the  wild  storm's  flashes, 
Receives  his  soul  the  priest-bid  lashes. 

Like  bloodhounds  on  a  trail, 

The  yelling  multitude, 
With  bitter,  mocking  hail, 

His  glorious  track  pursued. 
The  blinded  crowd  so  seldom  knows 
Its  benefactors  from  its  foes. 


THE  MARTYR'S  MOTHER.  13 

But  silent  was  the  tear. 

From  bleeding  hearts  upsent, 
For  the  brave  teacher  dear. 

Their  bondage  who  had  rent. 
And  some,  who  yet  had  not  the  truth, 
Deep  groaned  with  fructifying  ruth. 

That  soul-steeped  look,  — whence  broke  it  ? 

To  his  strong  heart  a  balm  ; 
That  valiant  word,  —  who  spoke  it  ? 

It  made  his  courage  calm. 
So  look,  so  speak,  could  only  one  ; 
A  mother  worthy  of  the  son. 

Ceases  the  blood-wet  rod  ; 
The  iron  's  in  the  fire  ; 
I'  the  name  of  mercy's  God, 

Rome's  priests  will  slake  their  ire. 
The  headsman's  arm  is  up,  —  and  now 
The  iron  's  on  the  martyr's  brow. 


14  THE  MARTYR'S  MOTHER. 

Like  one  fierce  lightning  streak 
On  the  black  calm  of  night, 
On  that  hushed  crowd  a  shriek 

Fell  with  appalling  might. 
"  Glory  to  Jesus  Christ,"  it  cried, 
"  And  all  his  witnesses  !  "  and  died. 

The  throng  and  soldiers  melt, 

Subdued,  o'erwhelmed  with  awe  ; 
The  priests,  e'en  they  too  felt 

She  was  above  their  law. 
A  heart-voice  tunes  all  to  its  mood, 
So  deep  's  our  bond  of  brotherhood. 

Thus  could  a  mother  sing 

For  Christ  and  Truth  that  day  ; 
She,  too,  had  quelled  pain's  sting. 
The  awed  crowd  give  her  way 
To  her  humble  hearth,  the  noble  one  : 
In  triumph  followed  her  her  son. 


15 


THE  LOVED  DEPARTED. 


SOLEMN  as  their  voices  dying, 
Silent  as  the  graves  they  lie  in. 
Tender  as  a  mother's  yearnings, 
Secret  as  a  wife's  heart-burnings, 
Sweet  as  tears  of  the  kind-hearted. 
Are  thoughts  of  the  loved  departed. 


16  THE   LOVED   DEPARTED. 

Now  their  aspects  greet  us  cheerful, 
Now  with  something  sad  or  tearful  ; 
Still  and  mystic  come  their  faces, 
Hallowed  by  unearthly  graces. 
Welcome  aye,  whence  ever  darted, 
Visions  of  the  dear  departed. 


When  least  looked  for  come  before  us 
These  pure  visions,  to  restore  us,  — 
When  a  sordid  passion  's  scheming, 
When  with  anger  eyes  are  gleaming. 
Blessed  be  whatever  started 
Memories  of  the  loved  departed. 


17 


DIDACTIC. 


Health's  temple  is  the  body  fair, 

High  miracle  of  art, 
A  perfect  God-built  palace,  where  . 

Strength,  Beauty,  each,  full  part 
From  Life  may  drink,  that  floweth  there, 

The  fountain  of  the  heart. 
Keep  pure  and  sweet,  is  Heaven's  command, 
This  temple,  thus  divinely  planned. 
2 


18  DIDACTIC. 

Within  this  temple  is  a  light. 

And  deep  a  holy  well, 
Kindled  and  nourished  from  the  height 

Whence  all  beginnings  swell. 
Virtues  and  powers  have  they,  so  bright 

Their  splendors  none  can  tell. 
If  free  the  intellect  and  soul, 
Man  is  a  generous,  joyous  whole. 


Let  in  its  might  the  mind  awake, 

It  speaks  the  eternal  law  ; 
Like  .sun-struck  mists,  Time's  trammels  break, 

Pale  falsehoods  faint  with  awe  ; 
While  round  them,  Love,  Truth,  Beauty,  shake 

The  light  from  God  they  draw, 
That  lights  to  boundless  liberty. 
To  earn  this  freedom,  what  do  we  ? 


DIDACTIC.  19 

We  blast  our  bodies  with  the  ills 

Of  vice  and  ignorance  born  ; 
Our  minds  we  dwarf,  we  lame  our  wills. 

Till  e'en  ourselves  we  scorn  ; 
Each  one  his  breast  with  self  o'erfills, 

Making  each  one  forlorn  ; 
And  then,  when  woes  thick  on  us  burst, 
We  moan,  —  "  By  fate  and  Heaven  we  're  curst." 


High  intellect  is  lowly  used 

To  glut  unrighteous  needs, 
Its  keenest  edges  roughly  bruised 

Upon  hard,  selfish  deeds  ; 
The  soul's  warm  wants  are  cold  refused, 

Stinted  with  meagre  creeds  ; 
And  then,  by  endless  strifes  outworn, 
We  wail,  —  "  Poor  man  was  made  to  mourn." 


20  DIDACTIC. 

Disorder,  by  brute  force  strong  bound, 

Order  and  law  we  call, 
And  'bout  the  reeking  earthy  mound 

Religion  's  made  a  wall  ; 
Thin  theologic  paps  are  ground, 

To  sweeten  man-mixed  gall  ; 
And  heavenly  earth  thus  made  a  hell, 
We  'd  save  us  by  the  old  church-bell ! 


WHY  ARE   POETS  SAD? 


SAW'ST  thou  e'er  the  clean  proportions, 

Schemed  in  fulness  of  thy  soul, 
Marred  to  look  more  like  distortions 

Than  the  beauty  of  a  whole  ? 
Heard'st  thou  e'er  poetic  passion, 

Music-wrought  to  thrill  the  heart, 
Tamed  by  some  insipid  fashion, 

Or  by  players  with  false  art  ? 
Hast  thou  ever,  with  the  feeling 

That  the  ill  might  have  been  stayed, 


22  WHY    ARE    POETS    SAD? 

Watched  a  loved  one,  while  was  stealing 

Death  upon  her  like  a  shade  ? 
Who  thwartings  such  as  these  has  had, 
May  know  why  poets  oft  are  sad. 

Poets'  lives  are  daily  thwartings  ; 

In  their  souls  they  bear  such  needs, 
That  to  them  are  ceaseless  smartings, 

What  the  world  calls  highest  meeds. 
Music  sings  in  their  heart-stirrings, 

That  can  find  no  earthly  voice  ; 
Life's  best  actual  forms  are  blurrings, 

To  the  beauty  of  their  choice. 
Man's  great  sorrows,  with  heart-feeling, 

Daily  they  in  secret  moan  ; 
From  their  eyes  are  often  stealing 

For  man's  woes  warm  tears  unknown. 
No  poet  's  he  who  can  be  glad, 
With  so  much  round  to  make  him  sad. 


23 


BURNS. 


QUIVERING  with  strength,  from  earth  he  springs  ; 
Defiant  shouts  his  strange  voice  rings. 
Gazing  afar,  like  some  lone  tower, 
His  nostrils  panting  restless  power, 
His  big  eyes  darting  eager  fire, 
With  rustic  hand  he  strikes  his  lyre. 


24  BURNS. 

From  the  long  sleep,  so  dreamless  slept, 
Scotland,  like  a  roused  laggard,  leapt. 
Rolls  the  clear  tide  of  a  new  song 
Through  her  heart's  channels,  void  so  long, 
High  swelling  now,  with  lively  beat, 
To  sounds  so  earnest,  stirring,  sweet. 

With  quickened  pulse  each  bosom  hears, 
In  tones  that  shift  from  mirth  to  tears, 
And  where,  too,  clarion  notes  are  pealed, 
Its  inmost  feeling  bright  revealed. 
A  nation's  face,  thus  freshly  wrought, 
Beams  with  a  smile  of  joyful  thought. 

Few  years  had  passed  since  first  was  heard 
That  fiery  heart's  awakening  word  ; 
Its  mighty  throb,  that  warm  life  sent 
To  million  hearts,  and  with  them  blent 
In  rapturous  unison,  is  still ; 
Tranquil  so  soon  in  Death's  pale  chill. 


BURNS.  25 

Wasted  ;  by  soul-sprung  griefs  outworn  ; 
By  proud  heart-struggles  inly  torn  ; 
Disconsolate,  despairing,  crushed  ; 
Before  his  time  in  misery  hushed ; 
Great  Burns  went  early  'mongst  the  dead, 
His  eye  still  gleaming  thoughts  unsaid. 

Could  he  have  had  but  half  his  due, 
Had  half  was  felt  and  done  been  true, 
His  generous  soul  had  then  been  soothed, 
And  timelier  his  last  pillow  smoothed. 
Traduced,  banned,  poor,  he  died  heart-broken, — 
The  noblest  Scot  that  e'er  has  spoken. 

He  whose  large  will,  if  matched  with  power, 
Had  rained  all  gifts  in  ceaseless  shower, 
Who  did  give  gifts  but  by  those  given 
Endowed  to  bless  the  earth  from  Heaven,  — 
Thoughts  to  enrich  all  time  to  come,  — 
Earned  his  poor  bread  by  gauging  rum. 


26  BURNS. 

A  noble  man,  divinely  strung 

For  all  the  virtues  he  has  sung, 

Finds  wrenched  by  lies  into  divorce 

From  good,  man's  pith,  his  feelings  force  ; 

Is  driven  to  the  tavern's  stench, 

His  brotherly  yearnings  there  to  quench. 

Instead  of  honor,  condescension ; 
Instead  of  peace,  hot,  coarse  contention  ; 
'Stead  of  high  work  fit  for  great  souls, 
He  had  the  low,  slow  toil  of  moles  ; 
A  victim  of  the  falsehoods  strong, 
That  make  of  men  a  scrambling  throng. 

Passions  in  him  were  lashed  to  madness, 
That  might  have  been  a  well  of  gladness  ; 
Sources  of  joy  turned  into  sadness, 
His  very  goodness  into  badness  : 
A  strong  man  bound  in  the  world's  lies 
And  multiform  hypocrisies. 


27 


IMPROMPTU, 


JN    BEING    ASKED    FOR   A   FEW  LINES    TO   ACCOMPANY   A  CANARY 
BIRD,    SENT    AS    FROM    A   LOVER   TO    HIS    MISTRESS. 


'T  is  only  song  can  utter  love, 

Its  agonies  and  blisses  ; 
For  song,  too,  springeth  from  above. 

Far,  far  from  sin's  abysses. 


28  IMPROMPTU. 

Alas  for  me  !  I  cannot  sing, 

And  yet  love  will  be  spoken  : 
O,  for  the  poet's  golden  string  ! 

My  heart  will  else  be  broken. 

I  '11  send  my  bird  to  speak  my  part, 

O,  hearken  to  his  singing  ! 
And  when  't  would  seem  he  'd  burst  his  heart 

Think  that  with  mine  't  is  ringing. 


29 


O,  DREAM  NO  MOKE  ! 


O,  dream  no  more  of  heavens  to  be  ! 

Heaven  is,  within,  around  you  ; 
Wake  from  a  selfish  lethargy, 

Where  misty  visions  bound  you. 

Cease  resting  on  a  joy,  to  start 

When  first  the  grave  shall  press  you ; 

The  throbbing,  living,  longing  heart 
Is  full  of  joys  to  bless  you. 


30  O,  DREAM    NO    MORE  ! 

O,  dream  no  more  of  hells  to  be  ! 

Hell  's  here,  around,  within  you  : 
What  are  the  groans  of  imagery. 

To  those  from  earth  that  din  you  ? 

Awake,  and  live  ;  't  is  dawn  at  last  : 
Hark,  how  your  brothers  call  you. 

Awake,  and  love  ;  let  go  the  past, 
Shake  off  the  hates  that  thrall  you. 

O,  dream  no  more  !  rouse  up  and  be  : 
Make  Love  and  Beauty  bound  you  ; 

And  so  at  last  humanity 

Shall  grow  a  heaven  around  you. 


31 


TO  LITTLE   MARY  GRIFFIN, 

GRANDDAUGHTER    OF    CAPTAIN    JAMES    LAWRENCE. 

SOLE  scion  of  a  noble  breed  ! 
Thy  sparkling,  laughing  eyes 
In  dearest  bosoms  throw  the  seed 
Of  saddest  memories. 
Then  quick  thy  wiles, 
And  roguish  smiles, 
Banish  all  miseries. 


32  TO    LITTLE    MARY    GRIFFIN. 

Joy-darting  life  and  nimble  grace 

Thy  blooming  limbs  enfold  ; 
More  thoughts  are  struggling  through  thy  face, 
Than  thy  young  eyes  can  hold. 
May  body's  health, 
And  spirit's  wealth, 
Be  aye,  as  now,  foretold. 


Thy  merry  voice  makes  glad  the  air, 

While  through  thy  tongue  Hope  sings  : 
And  from  thy  playful  tresses  fair 
Joy  leaps  in  sunny  rings. 
Beautiful  child  ! 
On  thee  be  piled 
All  gifts  that  goodness  brings  ! 


Throughout  thy  grandsire's  country  wide, 
Welcomed  thou  aye  wilt  be, 


TO    LITTLE    MARY    GRIFFIN.  33 

All  hearts,  for  that  brave  death  he  died. 
Thankful  his  child  to  see. 
May  thy  grandsire's 
Soul-lifting  fires 
Shine  womanly  in  thee  ! 


34 


INVOCATION. 


O  THOU,  who  smilest  in  the  Spring's  glad  bloom  ! 
Whose  love  is  dimly  seen  in  good  men's  deeds  ! 
Source  of  all  life  !     Mysterious,  awful  Presence  ! 
Power  beneficent !     Pour  of  thy  grace 
Upon  my  spirit,  that  would  purely  mount. 
O,  multiply  in  me  the  blessed  moods, 
When  Beauty  swathes  me  in  her  fiery  wings, 
And  from  all  selfish  thoughts  upwafts  me  swift, 
Through  realms  of  growing  light,  towards  the  high 

centre, 
Where,  in  eternal  fulgence  mild,  Truth  dwells. 


35 


FREILIGBATH. 


WHERE  the  old  Rhine  most  proudly  shows 
His  beauties  and  his  grandeurs  mild, 

As  by  St.  Goar's  walls  he  flows, 

And  'neath  broad  Rheinfels'  wreck  uppiled,- 

'T  was  there  the  poet  simply  dwelt, 

And  simply  sang  of  what  he  felt. 


0  FREILIGRATEL 

I  knew  him  there,  and  that  sweet  spot 
Lay  after  in  my  memory's  folds 

More  fragrantly,  that  't  was  my  lot 

To  meet  there  what  one  glad  beholds,  — 

A  gentle,  modest  man,  God-gifted, 

In  world's  wares  low,  by  worth  uplifted. 

A  frugal  pension  from  his  king, 
Enough  his  bounded  wants  to  sate, 

Left  him  all  free  to  roam  and  sing, 
Thus  duly  honored  by  the  state. 

Thought-breeding  spirits,  in  that  land, 

Are  nourished  from  the  public  hand. 

His  image  lived  within  my  mind, 

As  drew  him  there  his  verse  and  mien  ; 

A  man,  kind,  gentle,  and  refined, 
A  poet,  whom  't  were  hard  to  wean 

From  quiet  thought,  and  the  calm  moods 

Mild  natures  love  in  fields  and  woods. 


FREILIGRATH.  37 

A  few  years  passed  ;  —  I  was  at  home. 

One  day,  as  o'er  some  British  leaves 
My  eye  all  listlessly  did  roam. 

Suddenly  to  the  page  it  cleaves, 
Fixed  by  the  poet's'  name,  and  reads 
The  story  of  his  Muse  and  deeds. 

At  first  the  picture  was  the  same 

That  I  had  laid  within  my  breast ; 
But  soon,  strange,  startling  words  there  came 

Of  flight,  imprisonment,  arrest. 
By  dread  and  wonder  overpowered, 
The  tale  I  tremblingly  devoured. 

With  beautiful  dilation  swelled 

That  stored-up  image,  as  I  learned 

How  he  his  wrath  for  years  had  quelled, 

Had  hushed  the  love  wherewith  he  yearned  ; 

Hoping,  with  loyal,  Christian  trust, 

That  Prussia's  king  would  yet  be  just. 


38  FREILIGRATH. 

That  tranquil  mien,  that  abstinence 

From  smiting  words,  from  song- winged  blows, 
Was  a  pure  soul's  compelled  defence. 

Beneath,  a  patriot  spirit  glows, 
That  for  one's  country  all  would  dare  ; 
The  stronger,  that  it  could  forbear. 

But  when  at  last,  by  patient  trial, 

That  vulgar  king's  low  mind  he  knew, 

That  of  sweet  freedom  the  denial 
The  king  from  slavish  instincts  drew, 

In  stormy  verse  his  ire  he  sped, 

And  from  his  home  and  pension  fled. 

In  England  now  his  bread  he  earns, 
By  daily,  common,  mindless  toil  ; 

And  sad,  and  silent,  tearful  turns 

His  eyes  towards  his  far  German  soil ; 

Yet  thankful,  too,  that  he  is  saved 

From  those  hard  tyrants  whom  he  braved. 


FREILIGRATH.  39 

And  faded  now  's  that  image  meek, 

Dimmed  by  the  splendors  stern,  that  shine 

Around  the  martyr's  pallid  cheek. 
The  gentle  poet  of  the  Rhine 

His  deeds  a  hero-bard  avow  ; 

Whom  then  I  loved,  I  reverence  now. 

Woe  to  the  country  such  must  fly  ! 

Its  core  is  foul  with  cankering  blight  ; 
Its  throne  's  a  gilded,  brazen  lie. 

The  poets  are  a  people's  light ; 
As  were  a  sunless  firmament, 
Is  the  cursed  land  whence  they  are  sent. 


40 


THE   LOST  FOUND. 


BEWAIL  not  time  that  thou  hast  lost, 
Or  days  gone  by  and  wasted  ; 

'T  is  losing  time  to  be  thus  tost 
By  memories  bitter-tasted. 


But  work  the  grateful  Present  so, 
That  some  of  what  thou  'st  planted 

To  bounteous  strength  and  fruitage  grow 
And  thanks,  by  brothers  chanted. 


THE    LOST   FOUND.  41 

'T  is  thus  thou  'It  find  those  lost,  sad  days. 

Bereft  too  of  their  sorrows  ; 
Our  past  bad  debts  there  's  naught  that  pays, 

But  gold  of  rich  to-morrows. 


42 


GIVE  !  '  GIVE  ! 


THE  sun  gives  ever  ;  so  the  earth, 
What  it  can  give,  so  much  't  is  worth. 
The  ocean  gives  in  many  ways,  — 
Gives  paths,  gives  fishes,  rivers,  bays. 
So,  too,  the  air,  it  gives  us  breath  ; 
When  it  stops  giving,  comes  in  death. 

Give,  give,  be  always  giving  ; 

Who  gives  not  is  not  living. 
The  more  you  give, 
The  more  you  live. 


GIVE  !    GIVE  !  43 


God's  love  hath  in  us  wealth  upheaped  ; 

Only  by  giving  is  it  reaped. 

The  body  withers,  and  the  mind, 

If  pent  in  by  a  selfish  rind. 

Give  strength,  give  thought,  give  deeds,  give  pelf, 

Give  love,  give  tears,  and  give  thyself. 

Give,  give,  be  always  giving  ; 

Who  gives  not  is  not  living. 
The  more  we  give, 
The  more  we  live. 


44 


AGNES. 


As  birthday  I  will  celebrate 

The  day  when  first  I  met  her  ; 
From  that  't  is  I  my  true  life  date, 

So  much  to  it  I  'm  debtor. 
My  heart  I  felt  not  till  that  day, 

My  head,  too,  I  belied  it ; 
For  what  's  a  head,  in  best  array, 

Without  a  heart  to  guide  it. 


AGNES.  45 

O,  take  my  life,  but  not  my  love  ; 

What  were  my  life  without  her  ? 
No  star  with  its  linked  sun  can  move 

More  true  than  I  about  her. 
Darkling  I  'd  err,  were  she  away  ; 

I  'm  lost,  were  I  to  lose  her  ; 
She  is  my  light,  she  is  my  stay, 

'Mongst  millions  I  would  choose  her. 


46 


I  WILL  BE   FREE. 


DOWN  !  superserviceable  knave, 
That  basely  yieldest  all  we  crave. 

False  sprite,  Self-flattery  ! 
Protean  imp  !  though  thou  canst  throw  thee 
Into  all  guises,  now  I  know  thee  : 

Down  !  down  !  I  will  be  free. 


I    WILL    BE    FREE.  47 

And  ye,  who  bring,  so  open,  bold. 
Your  gifts  of  power,  applause,  and  gold, 

To  bribe  my  liberty  ; 
Millions  you  Ve  chained  in  hellish  fires  ; 
Bold  as  ye  be,  ye  all  are  liars  : 

A  vaunt  !  I  will  be  free. 

Ye  too,  with  wiles,  and  sweets,  and  charms 
Full  well  I  know  ye  and  your  harms, 

Ye  spawn  of  luxury  ! 
Ye  carnal  crew  !  who  calls  you  pleasures 
Is  false,  or  knows  not  your  false  measures  I 

Begone  !  I  will  be  free. 

Hence  all  your  honors,  gawds,  and  pelf ! 
I  '11  none  of  them  ;  I  '11  be  myself, 

And  strive  for  liberty. 
My  soul  !  be  thou  at  last  uprisen  ; 
Life  shall  no  longer  be  a  prison. 

With  death  its  only  key. 


48  I    WILL    BE    FREE. 

Spirits  of  beauty,  love,  and  truth, 
Potent  to  give  perpetual  youth, 

Come  ye  and  bide  with  me. 
In  your  celestial  influence  fold  me, 
And  with  your  chastening  strength  uphold  me 

God  !  help  me  to  be  free. 


49 


THE   SUFFERINGS  OF  JESUS. 


So  weak  our  joys,  so  poor  our  lives, 
That  towards  thy  affluence  of  soul 

Human  conception  vainly  strives, 
Seizing  but  fragments  of  the  whole. 

And  we  are  glad  ;  we  smile,  we  laugh  ; 

But  thou  didst  weep,  didst  never  smile  ; 
And  so  we  deem,  that  thou  didst  quaff 

Of  naught  but  sorrows,  deep  or  vile. 
4 


50  THE    SUFFERINGS   OF    JESUS. 

In  that  last  awful  ghastly  scene, 

Where  Sin  and  Death  danced  in  mad  glee. 
Our  weakness  makes  thy  sufferings  keen  ; 

We  groan  in  fleshly  sympathy. 

O,  what  to  thee  were  torture's  fangs  ? 

What  death,  to  thy  ecstatic  mind  ? 
A  tranquil  dream  were  death's  worst  pangs  ; 

Thy  pain  was  pity  for  mankind. 

Earth's  mists  to  earthly  eyes  bedim 
The  sun,  that  calmly  glows  above  ; 

Through  mists  we  see  the  cross,  and  Him, 
Calm  with  a  strong  pain-quenching  love. 

Will  vanish  then  our  sensual  fears, 

When  we  shall  rise  towards  his  pure  living  ; 
Sweeter  than  our  best  joys  were  tears 

Of  him,  whose  life  was  one  long  giving. 


51 


THE  BERNESE   ALPS   AT   SUNSET. 


YE  mighty  offspring  of  the  strong  young  Time  ! 

Gigantic  brood  of  earth's  primeval  travail  ! 

Before  your  silent,  beaming  majesty. 

With  strange  delight,  with  solemn  joy,  I  gaze, 

The  mind  upmounting  with  your  loftiness. 

Sublimity  makes  such  familiar  haunt 

Among  your  grandeurs  manifold,  that  Beauty 

Shrinks  modest  down,  to  nestle  at  your  feet. 

Ye  are  alone  ;  changeless,  where  all  things  change ; 

Motionless  'midst  the  unceasing  flow  of  life. 


• 

52         THE  BERNESE  ALPS  AT  SUNSET. 

Scarce  do  ye  bear  an  earthly  stamp,  but  high 
Ye   lift   your   speechless,    spotless    heads,    snow- 
blazoned, 

'Bove  nether  influence  ;  cleaving  earthborn  clouds, 
That  round  your  cold  sides  cling,  like  living  arms 
Around  a  corpse,  insensate  to  their  touch. 
A  mystery  ye  are  ;  and  from  the  plane 
And  common  of  this  world  sudden  ye  rear 
Your  giant  forms,  'midst  time's  recurring  spans, 
Fit  emblems  of  eternity.     Since  first 
From  Zurich's  humble  hills  your  image  loomed, 
A  heaven-suspended  vision,  on  my  sight, 
Day  upon  day  I  've  journeyed  towards  ye,  won- 
dering ; 

Till  now  I  stand,  awed,  bafHed,  at  your  base. 
Darkness  fast  fills  the  earth,  but  your  white  peaks 
Glow  in  the  sunshine.     Telegraphs  'twixt  worlds  ! 
Your  sky-ward  fronts  brighten  the  sun's  last  ray, 
To  me  a  herald  from  my  far-off  home. 


53 


A  GORGEOUS   SUNSET. 


As  wonderful  and  fresh  to-day 

Is  this  magnificent  array 

Of  purpled  light,  as  't  were  the  first 

That  quenched  man's  beauty-craving  thirst. 

Yet  day  ne'er  died,  but  its  last  hour 

Was  soothed  by  like  soft  solar  shower. 

It  is  a  promise,  daily  given, 

To  sickly,  sorrowing  Earth,  by  Heaven, 

That  pure  and  beautiful  as  this 

Is  yet  to  be  her  daily  bliss. 


54 


ECHO  TROM  ITALY  IN   1830. 


HARK  !  —  'T  is  past.     Whence  came  that  shiver- 
ing sound  ? 
5T  was  the  blast  of  tyrants  ;  France  is  bound. 

Still  lower  bend  the  knee, 

To  deeper  slavery, 

Woe-stricken  Italy  ! 


ECHO    FROM    ITALY    IN    1830.  55 

Ha  !  —  Again.     A  crash  like  deafening  thunder  ! 

T  is  the  chain  of  bondage  rent  asunder. 
Exultant  Italy, 
With  clanging  symphony, 
Sends  back  the  maddening  cry. 

Hark  !  —  A  shout  of  hosts  comes  o'er  the  sea  ! 
'T  is  the  rout  of  tyrants  ;  France  is  free. 

The  shout  of  victory, 

Of  joy  and  liberty, 

Resounds  through  Italy. 


56 


REUBEN  JAMES. 


ON  the  deck,  blood-soiled, 
In  a  death-grip  coiled. 

The  captains  lay  ; 
Decatur  up,  —  below,  the  Turk. 

Fierce  round  them  play 
The  Christian  sword  and  Moslem  dirk. 
Above  the  hero's  head 

A  scymitar  keen  flashes  ; 
An  instant  more,  he  's  sped  : 
Down  the  sharp  weapon  dashes. 


REUBEN   JAMES.  57 

To  ward  the  blow. 
To  seize  the  foe. 

Nor  arm  nor  sword  is  there  ;  by  stands 
But  one  poor  tar,  maimed  in  both  hands. 
Down  sweeps  the  Turkish  glave,  — 
Decatur  naught  can  save. 
What  cannot  a  brave  heart  ? 
That  tar,  with  a  quick  start, 
Thrusts  his  young  head  between  : 
It  takes  the  steel's  deep  seam. 
'T  was  for  a  hero  by  a  hero  done  : 
Both  must  be  great  that  deed  so  great  be  won. 
Higher  among  heroic  names 
Stands  thenceforth  none  than  Reuben  James. 


58 


SCENE  BEFORE   TRIPOLI. 


[This  poem  was  suggested  by  one  of  the  many  fine  passages 
in  Cooper's  Naval  History  of  the  United  States.] 


A  ROSIER  flood  of  golden  light, 

A  livelier  gush  of  melody. 
Told  of  a  new  earth-sent  delight 

For  Heaven's  ceaseless  jubilee. 
Joys  none  of  purer  holier  birth 
Hath  Heaven,  than  noble  deeds  on  earth. 
Swift  now  the  fire-eyed  host 
Of  warriors  quit  their  post, 
And  gathering, 
With  flashing  wing, 

On  the  deep  nether  bound  of  their  blest  home, 
Shone  like  a  vast  illuminated  dome. 


SCENE    BEFORE    TRIPOLI.  59 

Like  keenest  lightning, 
The  broad  day  brightening, 
Glittered  that  army  radiant, 
With  bounding  gladness  jubilant. 
A  myriad  throng  there  mustered, 
In  song-wove  circles  clustered, 
Of  every  age  and  strand. 
He  who  had  sought 

The  hero's  death  ; 
He  who  had  wrought, 

With  gushing  breath, 
To  build  his  fatherland  ; 
He  whose  faint  ear, 

On  battle-fields  lying, 
Freedom's  glad  cheer 

Had  blest  in  his  dying  ; 
He  whom  the  might 

Of  duty  had  lifted, 
With  front  upright, 
By  war  to  be  rifted  ; 


60  SCENE    BEFORE   TRIPOLI. 

The  hearty  ones,  whose  deaths  have  been 
The  births  of  deathless  thoughts  'mongst  men. 
With  jocund  flight,  they  sped  their  way 
Towards  Afric's  northern  shore,  where  lay, 
On  the  black  level  of  a  sunless  sea, 
Columbia's  fleet,  afront  of  Tripoli. 
They  gathered  round  one  slender  bark, 
They  smiled  upon  her  starry  banner  ; 
Her  deadly  cargo  they  did  mark, 
And  as  the  men  who  were  to  man  her 
Each  freely  came  with  eager  will, 
A  joy -born  wave  of  richer  light 
Pulsed  through  the  angelic  host  a  thrill, 
That  flushed  them  more  unearthly  bright. 


Hushed  is  the  fleet  ;  a  fearful  deed  's  to  do. 
All  hearts  are  with  that  bark  and  her  bold  crew. 
A  low  "  God  bless  you  !  "  —  seizure  of  the  hand,  — 
A  manly,  tender  look,  —  and  the  choice  band 


SCENE    BEFORE    TRIPOLI.  61 

Have  parted  from  their  comrades.     Fare  ye  well, 
Ye  brave,  with  SOMERS,  WADSWORTH,  ISRAEL  ! 
Calmly  and  silent  takes  his  station  each  : 
Only  who  stay  are  moved.     With  warning  speech, 
Decatur,  who  for  self  ne'er  danger  spied, 
Greets  Somers  ;  and  stout  Treble's  bosom  sighed, 
As  from  his  sight  quick  glided  in  the  gloom 
The  death-fraught  vessel,  onward  to  her  doom. 

Through  the  dark  and  solemn  night, 

Forth  she  slid  like  voiceless  sprite. 

On  her  deck,  so  dread  and  cheerless, 

Thirteen  hearts  beat  free  and  fearless. 

Friends  were  behind  them,  foes  before  ; 
Round  and  under, 
War's  black  thunder 

Slept  till  a  spark  should  wake  its  roar. 

But  Heaven  smiled  in  stars  above  ; 
And  deep  within 
Each  heart's  full  rim 

Glowed  the  strong  fire  of  country's  love. 


62  SCENE    BEFORE    TPIPOLI. 

Hushed  deeper  is  the  fleet.     All  eyes  are  one  ; 

All  fastened  to  the  lone  "  Intrepid's  "  path. 

The  wind  is  gauged,  the  time  't  will  take  to  run 

To  the  Turk's  cruisers,  where  will  burst  her  wrath. 

The  bold  bark's  desperate  goal  she  '11  quickly  gain ; 

The  scene  fore-paints  itself  on  the  strung  brain  :  — 

See  SOMERS  stand, 

With  fire  in  hand  ; 

His  comrades  ready, 

No  nerve  unsteady  : 

The  match  is  lighted  ; 

The  crew,  unfrighted, 

(Naught  of  earth  could  shake  them,) 

To  the  boats  betake  them,  — 

Harshly  is  rent  this  hopeful  dream. 

Forth  from  the  Moslem  fort  a  stream 

Gushes  of  flame  ;  quick  then  the  ear 

Is  filled,  too,  by  the  cannoneer. 

Stream  upon  stream  ;  with  each  a  mate 

Of  thunder  on  the  air  doth  grate. 


SCENE    BEFORE    TRIPOLI.  63 

Is  broke  this  hot  suspense 

By  what  o'erwhelmed  the  sense. 

One  flash,  as  though  all  light  were  spent  ! 

One  crash,  as  though  a  sphere  were  rent  ! 

Trembled  the  wars-men  to  their  keels  ; 

Glared  the  dark  sea,  as  thing  that  feels. 

By  that  appalling  light,  each  saw 

His  neighbour's  visage  blanched  with  awe. 

The  air  collapsed,  as  though  a  wrench 

Were  made  Earth's  very  life  to  quench. 
Silence  and  Night,  as  fraught  with  general  death, 
Rush  back,  while    Turk  and  Christian  ho]d  their 
breath. 


More  slowly  than  when  Ocean's  homeward  way 
Is  balked  with  calms,  drag  on  the  minutes  now. 

Keener  than  the  fierce  famished  shark  for  prey, 
Watches  each  silent  ship  from  stern  to  prow. 


64  SCENE    BEFORE    TRIPOLI. 

Save  when  impetuous  fancy  cheats  the  hope 
With  semblances  of  sound,  nor  eye  nor  ear 

Can  seize  on  aught  within  their  tensest  scope. 
As  hours  wear  sadly  on,  night  grows  more  drear. 

Close  to  the  water's  edge  the  seamen  creep, 
Striving  to  catch  the  stroke  of  muffled  oar. 

The  hands  that  should  have  pulled  them,  on  the  deep, 
Where  Courage  keeps  his  state,  will  pull  no  more. 

Gleams  the  high  rocket  ;  booms  the  signal  gun, 
Calling  to  SOMERS,  WADSWORTH,  ISRAEL. 

The  heavenward  gleam  points  to  the  path  they  Ve 

gone  ; 
The  cannon's  helpful  roar,  —  it  is  their  knell. 

None  came  to  say,  how  died  th'  heroic  band  ; 

And  Death  and  Night  the  fearful  secret  kept. 
Shrieked  mothers,  sisters,  wives,  as  from  that  strand 

Reached  the  dread  tale,  and  a  whole  nation  wept. 


SCENE    BEFORE    TRIPOLI.  65 

Gay  as  blossoms  breeze-borne  dancing, 
Heavenward  flew  th'  angelic  host, 

Swift  as  sunbeams  earthward  glancing, 
Back  to  their  empyreal  post. 

E'er  that  glare  the  fleet  that  daunted 
Quick  was  swallowed  by  the  night, 

They  their  song  of  triumph  chanted 
Near  th'  eternal  realms  of  light. 

Linked  in  wreaths  'round  heaven's  portal, 
With  the  lightsome  grace  of  joy, 

Hung  that  shining  host  immortal, 
Heirs  of  bliss  without  alloy. 

Backward  then  their  vision  darting, 

In  the  nether  darkness  met, 
Just  from  earth  fresh  upward  starting, 

What  seemed  stars  in  circle  set. 
5 


66  SCENE    BEFORE    TRIPOLI. 

Upward,  upward,  surely  steering, 
Sparkling  with  perennial  ray, 

Thirteen  stars,  all  free  careering 
Upward  to  the  heavenly  day. 

Now  they  near  the  blissful  portal, 
Brightening  still  as  they  advance  ; 

Now  the  exultant  host  immortal 
Close  them  in  with  choral  dance. 


EPIGRAMS 


EPIGRAMS. 


THE  POETASTER. 

WHAT  is  he  like,  a  prosy  versifier  ? 
Like  a  clipt  goose  he  is,  immersed  in  mire. 
He  could  not  fly,  unclogged  by  any  balk  ; 
Behampered  thus,  he  cannot  even  walk. 


70  EPIGRAMS. 


"GREAT  STATESMEN." 


LIKE  plummet  in  mid  ocean  sounding. 
Like  him  who  crystals  would  be  rounding, 
Are  they  who  rule,  and  fashion  laws,  — 
Things  that  are  chiefly  made  of  flaws. 
And  yet,  men  dub  them  great  ;  the  while 
Angels  or  weep,  or  pitying  smile. 

But  why,  blind  as  they  are,  why  rail  about  them  ? 

The  world  's  so  bad,  it  cannot  do  without  them. 


EPIGRAMS.  71 


ISMS. 


SAY,  thoughtless  skeptics,  ye  who  doubt 

The  Devil's  true  existence, 
What  are  these  isms  all  about,  — 

What,  but  to  God  resistance  ? 
God's  will  is,  that  we  aye  should  live 

In  union  fraternal  ; 
But  these  bring  hate,  and  mankind  rive 

With  enmities  infernal. 
From  one  vile  common  parent  spring 

All  isms  with  their  schism  ; 
Born  he  of  Satan's  venomed  sting,  — 

The  monster,  EGOTISM. 


72  EPIGRAMS. 


THROUGH  business'  wastes  and  passion's  fogs, 

Men  run  their  petty  round  ; 
They  make  one  think  of  little  dogs, 

Their  noses  to  the  ground. 


PHILOSOPHERS  say,  in  their  deep-pondered  books, 
It  were  well  if  each  man  found  his  level. 

Sage  sirs,  this  is  not  quite  so  good  as  it  looks, 
For  't  would  send  a  whole  host  to  the  Devil. 


RELIGION  's  ever  soiled  and  soiled 
And  by  man's  foulness  hurt  ; 

The  cleanest  thing  will  be  defiled 
By  contact  with  the  dirt. 


EPIGRAMS.  73 


No  carpenter  so  quick  with  rule, 
To  measure  height  and  length, 

As  is  a  pert,  self-ignorant  fool, 
To  gauge  a  wise  man's  strength. 


SONNETS 


77 


ON  THE   FIFTY-FIFTH  SONNET  OF 
SHAKSPEARE. 


THE  soul  leaps  up  to  hear  this  mighty  sound 

Of  Shakspeare  triumphing.     With  glistening  eye, 

Forward  he  sent  his  spirit,  to  espy 

Time's  gratitude,  and  catch  the  far  rebound 

Of  fame  from  worlds  unpeopled  yet ;  and,  crowned 

With  brightening  light  through  all  futurity, 

His  image  to  behold  up-reaching  high, 

'Mongst  the  world's  benefactors  most  renowned. 


78  SONNETS. 

Like  to  the  ecstasy,  by  man  unnamed, 
The  spheral  music  doth  to  Gods  impart, 
Was  the  deep  joy  that  thou  hast  here  proclaimed 
Thy  song's  eternal  echo  gave  thy  heart. 
O,  the  world  thanks  thee  that  thou  'st  let  us  see, 
Thou  knew'st   how  great  thou   wast,  how  prized 
to  be! 


79 


PC  THE   STATUE   OF   EVE,  BY   POWERS. 


WHO  that  has  had  of  beauteous  womanhood 
Translucent  visions,  in  his  holiest  dreams, 
Or  when  the  abstracted,  waking  mind  so  teems 
With  images  of  beauty,  that  't  will  brood, 
In  happiest  silence,  on  the  fertile  mood 
So  deeply,  till  each  outward  thing  but  seems 
Fantastic,  while  the  flashing,  inward  gleams 
Compound  a  loveliness  that  would  be  wooed 


80  SONNETS. 

As  a  reality,  —  were  such  to  come 
Before  thee,  with  a  virgin  joy,  his  soul, 
Like  a  new  spirit  in  Elysium, 
Would  gush  with  ecstasy,  while  from  it  roll 
All  memories  of  dreams  or  inward  sight, 
Paled  by  the  fulgence  of  thy  wondrous  light. 

FLORENCE,  February  24th,  1842. 


81 


TO  THE   SAME. 


THE  Greeks  —  whose  fresh  imaginations  blent 
Spirit  with  form  so  richly  in  their  youth 
That  Beauty  wore  the  radiant  crown  of  Truth, 
And  ever  bodied  forth  some  wise  intent 
Direct  from  Jove  Minerva  drew,  and  rent 
His  mighty  brain,  to  give  becoming  birth 
To  Wisdom's  Goddess,  that  her  peerless  worth 
Might  not  be  marred  by  dallying  passion's  vent. 
6 


82  SONNETS. 

Powers  is  a  new  Jove  ;  and  on  his  brain 
What  has  begot  this  perfect  woman  (who 
Like  Pallas  shall  breed  thoughts  of  purest  strain) 
Is  the  young  life  his  giant  country  drew 
From  heaven  and  her  own  soul,  where  no  old  art 
Nor  chains  the  soaring  mind,  nor  chills  the  heart. 

FLORENCE,  March  4th,  1842. 


83 


TO  THE   LEGISLATURE  OF  MARYLAND, 

DISCUSSING    THE    RESUMPTION    OF    PAYMENT. 

LOOK  in  the  face  of  God,  who  looks  at  you  ; 

And,  like  a  cur  before  the  lion's  lair, 

You  '11  quake  to  speechlessness,  or  you  will  swear, 

With  soul-drawn  valor,  that  you  will  be  true. 

But  set  your  thought  on  high,  you  '11  feel  what 's  due 

Unto  yourselves  and  sons.     But  if  you  wear 

An  earthward  look,  you  're  lost ;  and  we  must  bear 

A  load  of  shame  not  ages  will  subdue. 


84  SONNETS. 

Freemen,  it  is  the  cause  of  liberty  : 

The  able  debtor  is  the  basest  slave. 

O,  ward  us  from  a  blighting  infamy  ! 

If  the  State  WILLS,  she  CAN.     He  is  a  knave, 

Who  says  she  should  not,  whom  we  must  despise, 

And  scorn,  and  loathe  :  who  says  she  cannot,  lies. 

BALTIMORE,  January  31st,  1844. 


FROM    GOETHE 


THE  following  translations  are  gleanings,  and  not  selec- 
tions, from  Goethe's  shorter  poems.  This  golden  field  was 
harvested  some  years  ago,  by  Mr.  John  S.  Dwight,  whose 
beautiful  volume,  "  Select  Minor  Poems  of  Goethe  and 
Schiller,"  is  a  model  of  what  may  be  accomplished  in 
poetical  translation.  But  Goethe  is  so  various,  as  well  as  so 
abundant,  that  he  still  leaves  fruit  for  successive  laborers. 

In  these  few  pages,  the  grace  that  ever  attends  his  pen 
is  perceptible  even  in  the  shortest  pieces,  and  glimpses  are 
had  of  the  beauty  and  grandeur  of  his  mind.  But  in  them 
are  chiefly  exhibited  the  wit,  the  playfulness,  and  the  practi- 
cal wisdom  of  Goethe,  presenting  aspects  of  the  genial, 
many-sided  man,  with  which  only  such  American  and  Eng- 
lish readers  are  familiar  as  have  access  to  him  in  German. 

With  the  exception  of  one  little  piece,  u  The  Hypochon- 
driac," the  translator  has  faithfully  preserved  the  measures 
of  the  originals ;  a  fidelity  which  is  especially  important  in 
attempts  to  reproduce  in  another  tongue  the  poetry  of  Goethe. 


89 


A  CONFESSION. 


WHAT  is  hard  to  conceal  ?  —  Fire. 
By  day,  smoke  shows  it  far  and  wide  ; 
By  night,  its  flame,  the  monster  dire. 
Further,  Love,  too,  is  hard  to  hide. 
However  closely  it  be  hidden, 
Forth  from  the  eyes  it  leaps  unbidden. 
A  Poem  is  yet  harder  still ; 
Put  it  'neath  a  bushel  no  one  will. 


90  FROM   GOETHE. 

If  that  the  poet  has  just  done  singing, 
His  whole  soul  will  be  with  it  ringing/ 
If  neatly  he  has  writ  it  down, 
He  'd  have  it  liked  by  all  the  town. 
To  each  he  reads  it,  loud  and  joyous  ; 
Whether  it  please  us  or  annoy  us. 


91 


SONGS. 


CHRISTEL. 

DEJECTED  oft  I  feel,  and  low. 

With  inward,  heavy  pain  ; 
If  then  I  to  my  Christel  go, 

Then  all  is  well  again. 
I  see  her  here,  I  see  her  there, 

And  still  I  cannot  tell 
Wherefore,  or  how,  or  when,  or  where 

She  pleases  me  so  well. 


92  FROM    GOETHE. 

Those  black  and  roguish  eyes  of  hers, 

The  eyebrows  black  above,  — 
One  look  therein  my  blood  it  stirs, 

It  lights  my  heart  with  love. 
Has  any  one  a  mouth  so  sweet  ? 

Her  cheek  's  a  rosy  hill, 
So  round  it  is,  and,  ah  !  so  meet ; 

No  eye  can  look  its  fill. 


And  when  I  firm  have  clasped  her  waist 

In  the  airy  German  dance, 
Around  we  go  in  whirling  haste,  — 

I  thrill  as  in  a  trance. 
And  when  she  dizzy  grows  and  warm, 

I  cradle  her  as  we  flee, 
Upon  my  breast,  within  my  arm,  — 

A  kingdom  't  is  to  me. 


93 


SWEETNESS   OF  SORROW. 


DRY  not  up,  dry  not  up, 

Tears  of  eternal  love  ! 

Ah  !  even  to  eyes  that  are  but  half  dried, 

How  desert,  how  dead,  the  world  to  them  seems  ! 

Dry  not  up,  dry  not  up, 

Tears  of  unfortunate  love  ! 


94 


WANDERER'S  NIGHT-SONG. 


THOU  who  dost  in  heaven  bide, 

Every  pain  and  sorrow  stillest, 
Him  whom  twofold  woes  betide 

With  a  twofold  solace  fittest, 
O,  this  tossing,  let  it  cease  ! 

What  means  all  this  pain,  unrest  ? 
Soothing  peace  ! 

Come,  O,  come  into  my  breast ! 


95 


A  DEFIANCE. 


O,  WERE  I  but  as  fair 

As  the  maidens  are  inland  ! 

They  wear  smart  yellow  hats  all, 
With  rosy-ruddy  band. 

Believing  that  one  fair  is, 

Surely  is  received  ; 
In  the  town,  ah  !  he  said  so, 

And  there  I  believed. 


96  FROM    GOETHE. 

Now  in  spring-time,  ah  me  ! 

All  my  joy,  'way  it  whirls  ; 
The  girls  they  so  win  him 

The  brown  country -girls. 

And  the  waist  and  the  skirt 
I  '11  change  at  a  bound  ; 

The  bodice  is  longer, 
The  jacket  is  round. 

I  will  wear  a  straw  hat, 
And  a  spencer  like  snow, 

And  reap  with  the  others, 
Where  clover -buds  blow. 

If  he  sees  'mongst  the  quire 
Something  pretty  and  trim, 

The  warm,  roguish  fellow, 
He  beckons  me  in. 


A   DEFIANCE.  97 


And  I  go  all  ashamed  ; 

He  knows  me  not  apace, 
My  cheek  till  he  pinches, 

And  sees  then  my  face. 

The  town-maiden  threats 
You  girls  an  affray  ; 

And  charms  that  are  double 
Will  carry  the  day. 


98 


HYMN  OF  THE  ARCHANGELS. 


FROM     THE     PROLOGUE     IN     HEAVEN,     IN     FAUST. 


RAPHAEL. 

THE  sun  in  wonted  guise  is  sounding 

In  brother-spheres  the  rival  song, 
And  on  his  destined  path  is  bounding 

With  thunder-movement  bright  along  ; 
His  aspect  angels  vigor  lendeth, 

Though  none  his  being  fathom  may  ; 
The  works,  whose  might  all  thought  transcendeth 

Are  grand  as  on  creation's  day. 


HYMN    OF   THE   ARCHANGELS.  99 

GABRIEL. 

And  swift  and  swift  the  earth  is  streaming, 

With  gorgeous  change,  so  dark,  so  bright  ; 
In  hues  of  paradise  now  beaming, 

And  now  wrapt  deep  in  gloom  of  night. 
The  sea,  'gainst  rushing  rivers  striving, 

On  rocks  upheaves  its  foam  and  wrath  ; 
And  rock  and  sea  are  onward  driving 

Eternally  in  heaven's  path. 

MICHAEL. 

And  storms  in  conflict  wild  are  pouring 

From  land  to  sea,  from  sea  to  land  ; 
And  form,  while  raging  fierce  and  roaring, 

Of  deepest  action  one  close  band. 
There  lightning's  vivid  flash  is  glaring 

Before  the  coming  thunder  hoarse  ; 
But  these,  O  Lord  !  thy  orders  bearing, 

Revere  the  universe's  course. 


100  FROM    GOETHE. 

ALL   THREE. 

The  aspect  angels  vigor  lendeth, 

Though  none  thy  being  fathom  may  ; 

Thy  works,  whose  might  all  thought  transcendeth, 
Are  grand  as  on  creation's  day. 


101 


PROVERBIAL. 


FLEE  to  the  furthest  bound  ;  go  where 
The  smallest  frontier  cabin  reaches  ; 

What  boots  it  thee  ?  thou  findest  there 
Tobacco  still,  and  evil  speeches. 


BUT  do  what  's  right  in  thy  affairs. 
The  rest  's  done  for  thee  unawares. 


102  FROM   GOETHE. 


I  EGOIST  !  not  so,  I  wist. 
Envy,  he  is  the  egoist. 
The  many  roads  that  I  have  gone, 
On  envy's  path  has  found  me  none. 


MUCH  already  thou  hast  done, 

When  habit  of  patience  thou  hast  won. 


NOTHING  could  make  me  deeper  moan, 
Than  being  in  Paradise  alone. 


PROVERBIAL.  103 


LET  me  do,  it  is  my  best, 
Aye  some  end  pursuing  : 

The  rich  heart,  it  cannot  rest ; 
Alway  't  will  be  doing. 


How  pat  would  all  things  be,  and  nice, 
If  we  could  only  do  them  twice. 


A  THOUSAND  flies  at  night  I  slay  ; 
Yet  wakes  me  one  at  earliest  day. 


101  FROM    GOETHE. 


THE  tender  poem,  like  the  rainbow's  arc, 
Can  only  bloom  on  a  ground  that  's  dark. 
Thence  poets  love,  though  not  sad  wrholly, 
The  element  of  melancholy. 


THY  chestnuts,  if  too  long  they  burn, 
All  into  coals  are  sure  to  turn. 


To  sweetly  remember,  and  finely  to  think, 
Is  tasting  of  life  at  its  deep,  inmost  brink. 


PROVERBIAL.  105 


WHO,  then,  is  the  sovereign  Man  ? 

That  is  quickly  said  : 
He  whom  no  one  hinder  can, 

Be  his  aim  or  good  or  bad. 


WHO  right  will  do  alway  and  with  zest, 

Let  him  harbour  true  love  in  thought  and  breast. 


AT  first  hand, 

Understand 

What  't  is  the  world  takes  ill  of  thee  : 

It  asks  not  soul,  it  asks  civility. 


106  FROM    GOETHE. 


WHO  quick  resolves  doth  make, 
He  ?s  brave  and  bold,  I  cry. 

He  jumps  into  the  lake, 
Out  of  the  rain  to  fly. 


DOUBLY  gives  who  quick  gives  ; 
Hundredfold  who  quick  gives 
What  one  wants  and  loves.* 


*  I  subjoin  the  original  as  a  curious  exemplification  of  the 
family  likeness  between  the  German  and  English  languages :  — 

Doppelt  giebt  wer  gleich  giebt ; 
Hundertfach  der  gleich  giebt 
Was  man  wunscht  und  liebt. 


PROVERBIAL.  107 


KNOW  thou  thyself.     For  that  what  were  my  pay  ? 
Know  I  myself,  quick  must  I  run  away. 
'T  were  just  as  if,  at  a  masquerade  ball, 
I  from  my  face  should  my  mask  let  fall. 


WHEN  likest  thou  best  to  stoop  ? 
A  spring-flower  for  thy  love  to  pluck. 


WHO  's  he  who  Fortune's  highest  palm  has  won  ? 
Who  joyful  does,  and  joys  in  what  he  's  done. 


108  FROM    GOETHE. 


DIVIDE  and  rule,  —  strong  words  indeed. 
But  better  still,  —  unite  and  lead. 


No  greater  merit  do  I  know, 
Than  to  allow  that  of  the  foe. 


109 


EPIGRAMMATIC. 


TOTALITY. 

A  GENTLEMAN  of  head  and  heart 

Is  welcome  everywhere  ; 
With  subtile  wit  and  jestings  smart, 

He  captivates  the  fair. 
But  if  he  wants  both  strength  and  fist, 

Who  shields  his  seat  of  wit  ? 
And  if  his  hinder  parts  are  missed, 

How  can  the  good  man  sit  ? 


110  FROM   GOETHE. 


ORIGINALITY. 

ONE  says,  —  "  I  'm  not  of  any  school : 

No  living  master  gives  me  rule  : 

Nor  do  I  in  the  old  tracks  tread  ; 

I  scorn  to  learn  aught  from  the  dead." 

Which  means,  if  I  have  not  mistook, 

"  I  am  an  ass  on  my  own  hook." 


ADVICE. 

AND  so  you  '11  no  denial  take  : 
Advice  you  ask  ;  that  I  can  give  : 

But,  only  for  my  quiet's  sake, 
Promise  that  you  wont  by  it  live. 


EPIGRAMMATIC.  Ill 


HUMILITY. 


WHEN  I  the  masters'  works  look  on, 
I  see  then  that  which  they  have  done  : 
When  I  behold  my  motley  crew, 
I  see  what  't  was  I  had  to  do. 


OLD  AGE. 

AGE  is  polite  ;  with  time's  sure  lapse, 
Often  and  oft  he  gently  taps  ; 
To  say,  "  Come  in,"  can  no  one  bide. 
Now  he  's  not  one  to  stay  outside  ; 
He  lifts  the  latch,  and  quick  the  door 
Is  past :  all  cry,  —  An  ill-bred  boor  ! 


112  FROM  GOETHE. 


TO  BE  GOOD,  AN  EGG  MUST  BE  FRESH. 

ENTHUSIASM,  the  which  blood  stirs, 
Is  like  the  oyster,  rny  good  sirs. 
Only  when  fresh  is  't  good  to  eat, 
For  else,  't  is  but  indifferent  meat. 
Enthusiasm  is  n't  herring- wares, 
That  's  salted  up  for  after  years. 


MY  CHOICE. 


I  LIKE  the  best  the  kindly  man, 

'Mongst  all  the  guests  that  I  could  name, 
Who  make  game  of  himself,  too,  can  ; 

Who  cannot,  is  himself  not  game. 


EPIGRAMMATIC.  113 


EXAMPLE. 

WHENEVER  I  impatient  grow, 
Earth's  patience  to  my  mind  I  show, 
Which,  as  we  're  told,  turns  daily  round, 
And  travels  yearly  the  same  ground. 
For  what  else,  then,  am  I  placed  here  ? 
I  follow  my  good  mother  dear. 


EQUALITY. 

FOR  what  is  greatest  no  one  strives, 
But  each  one  envies  others'  lives  : 
The  worst  of  enviers  is  the  elf 
Who  thinks  that  all  are  like  himself. 

8 


114  FROM   GOETHE. 


PANACEA. 

"  SAY,  how  dost  thou  ever  and  ever  thyself  re- 
new ?  " 

The  same  canst  thou,  if  to  the  great  thou  'It  ever 
be  true. 

The  great  remains  fresh,  warming,  and  lifts  up  the 
will; 

Whilst  in  the  little  shakes  the  little  with  a  chill. 


THE  BEST. 

WHEN  in  thy  head  and  heart  it  stirs, 
How  bettered  could  thy  doom  be  ? 

Who  no  more  loves  and  no  more  errs 
Had  better  in  his  tomb  be. 


EPIGRAMMATIC.  H5 


COMPANY. 

* 

FROM  a  large  company,  where  he  had  spent 
An  evening,  home  a  quiet  savant  went. 
His  friends  asked  how  he  liked  it ;  he  decreed  them 
This  answer,  —  "  Were  they  books,  I  would  not 
read  them." 


116 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


A  SPOT  was  seeking  Love's  keen  smart, 
A  dreary  and  a  lonely  space  ; 

It  came  across  my  desert  heart 
And  nestled  in  the  empty  place. 


As  guides  by  land  and  sea, 
God  set  the  stars  on  high  ; 

That  they  our  joy  may  be, 
Aye  looking  to  the  sky. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  117 


WHEN  all  hope  and  help  desert  you. 
And  you  wail,  depressed,  heart-broken, 

There  is  still  a  healing  virtue 
In  a  word  that  's  kindly  spoken. 


Do  thou  good  for  the  love  of  good  : 
Deliver  this  unto  thy  blood. 
If  naught  stays  with  thy  children  of  it, 
Thy  children's  children  yet  't  will  profit. 


BE  never  thou,  whatever  haps, 
Seduced  to  contradict ; 

The  wisest  into  ignorance  lapse, 
Who  with  the  unwise  conflict. 


118  FROM   GOETHE. 


ENWERI  says  't, —  one  of  God's  noblest  creatures, 
Who  knows  of  heart  and  head  the  deep'st,  best 

features,  — 

In  all  times,  places,  your  account  you  '11  find 
In  tolerance,  judgment,  and  an  upright  mind. 


WHO  would  not  be  at  the  mercy  of  a  thief 
Conceals  his  gold,  his  goings,  and  belief. 


119 


A  PARABLE. 


WHEN  I  to  the  market  hie 

Through  the  throng. 
And  the  pretty  maiden  spy 

The  crowd  among  ; 
Go  I  here,  she  comes  to  me, 

But  above  ; 

No  one  can  about  us  see 
How  we  love. 


120  FROM    GOETHE. 

u  Old  man,  wilt  thou  ne'er  be  quiet  ! 

Ever  maiden  ! 
In  the  time  of  youthful  riot, 

'T  was  a  Katechen. 
Who  is  't  now  makes  thy  days  sweet  ? 

Say,  old  youth." 

Look  there  how  she  me  doth  greet,  — 
It  is  TRUTH. 


121 


THE   HYPOCHONDRIAC. 


THE  Devil  take  all  human  kind  ! 

They  are  enough  to  craze  one  ! 
Then  stoutly  I  make  up  my  mind, 

No  creature  e'er  I  '11  gaze  on. 
I  '11  let  the  world  go  its  own  pace, 

And  to  the  Devil  leave  it. 
Scarce  do  I  see  a  human  face, 

I  love  it,  would  relieve  it. 


122 


FIVE   THINGS. 


FRIENDSHIP  wont  grow  within  the  breast  of  pride  ; 

Ill-bred  are  they  who  aye  with  lowness  bide  ; 

Unto  no  greatness  can  attain  a  knave  ; 

Envy  to  weakness  never  pity  gave  ; 

In  vain  for  truth  and  faith  the  liar  looks  ; 

These  let  thy  mind  hold  fast  with  its  best  hooks. 


123 


FIVE   OTHER  THINGS. 


WHAT  makes  the  time  pass  quickly  ? 

Activity. 
What  long  and  heavy  both  ? 

What  else  but  sloth. 
What  doth  debts  create  ? 

To  bear  and  wait. 
What  brings  rich  gains  along  ? 

Not  to  think  long. 
What  doth  honors  collect  ? 

Self-respect. 


124 


A  REVIEWER. 


To  dinner  once  I  had  a  lout ; 

It  happened  not  to  put  me  out, 

I  gave  him  just  my  common  dinner  ; 

He  ate  like  any  hungry  sinner. 

Of  what  I  gave  him  with  good- will, 

Scarce  had  the  fellow  got  his  fill, 


A   REVIEWER.  125 

The  Devil  led  him  to  a  neighbour, 

To  talk  there  'bout  my  dinner's  savour. 

"  Soup  might  have  been  more  spiced,"  he  told, 

"  Browner  the  roast,  the  wine  more  old." 

Pots  tausend,  pin  him  with  a  skewer, 

Strike  the  dog  dead,  —  't  is  a  Reviewer. 


THE    END. 

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